


Til Death, Never May We Part

by carpemermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dementors, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, HP: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Patronus, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/pseuds/carpemermaid
Summary: This was meant to be their wedding day and here they are, both dying at the hands of Dementors.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2016 H/D Hurtfest](http://hd-hurtfest.livejournal.com/20151.html)
> 
>  **Prompt Number:** #12 by emmatheslayer  
>  **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
>  **Warning(s):** angst, hurt/comfort, ruined wedding day, near death experiences,  almost MCD
> 
> Giant thank you to Kerrilee75 for looking this over and being sad with me!

They’re all gathered in the garden of Malfoy Manor for Harry and Draco’s marriage bonding ceremony. The guests are looking up at them, as they kneel on a raised platform with engraved runes that speak of unity, endurance, and love. Pillars covered in dripping floral arrangements surround them. Draco holds Harry’s callused hands in his own, his thumbs rubbing over the back of them. He’s so happy to finally join himself officially with Harry.

  


Magic swirls around them in shimmery coils. At the start of the ceremony they walked together, clockwise and anticlockwise, spelling the runes into the ground with their wands. Now the circle of magic representing their unity circle separates them from their guests as they kneel together at the centre. His mother is seated right next to Molly Weasley, who is smiling with watery eyes and flushed cheeks. Her husband’s arm is wrapped around her shoulders.

  


Harry and Draco are both wearing formal white unity robes that are embroidered with intricate details in shades of blue, orange, and green. Every detail is a symbol for their love and their union in bonded marriage. Draco leaves nothing to chance; their day is beautiful and perfect. It’s filled with meaning.

  


Draco repeatedly gets lost in the intense, loving looks Harry gives him as they recite their vows to each other. Draco has carefully crafted his own, and made sure that Granger helped Harry with his. Harry recites his vows with a cocky, sure grin when his words tease at their rocky beginnings.

  


“… I promise to love you, and yield to you — even when you’re having one of your tantrums,” Harry says with a raised eyebrow, his eyes sparkling. Draco smirks and squeezes his hand. “As long as you yield to me in return, may I love you all of my days and into the beyond,” Harry finishes.

  


Draco’s heart swells, threatening to burst from his chest. He grins until his cheeks hurt. Harry impulsively leans forward and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, making Draco laugh. He glances over to their guests, seeing both his mother and Granger gracefully dashing their tears away. Looking back into Harry’s eyes he’s caught by the emotion shining through. It catches Draco off guard sometimes, how ridiculously in love they are. Sometimes he thinks their love is impossible, but here they are joining themselves for eternity and bonding their souls together. They’ve always been intertwined, now they’re making it permanent.

  


They stand together, hand in hand, exchanging another small smile between them. Together they raise their wands and begin the incantation to complete their ceremony. They’d practised this part with difficulty, the Latin incantation was intricate. Instead of the magic surrounding them glowing a soft golden colour it flashes brightly, hurting Draco’s eyes. The breeze picks up around them, the sunlight clouds into shadows. The warmth of the afternoon seems to seep into a chill that leaves Draco shivering. Harry is looking towards their guests, who look confused and uneasy. Several are staring aghast at the sky. When Draco looks up he sees the horrifying sight of Dementors descending on them like a dark cloud.

  


“What in Merlin’s name…” Draco trails off, squeezing Harry’s hand. The chilly breeze becomes a strong wind, whipping their robes around them.

  


Before Harry can even finish processing the scene and fire off his famous Patronus a flower-covered pillar whips up in the wind, knocking into Harry’s head. He crumples to the ground with a groan.

  


“Harry!” He kneels by Harry’s side, his hand smoothing over the angry red lump already forming on Harry’s head. Harry’s eyes are unfocused and seem to look through Draco. His eyelids slip closed as he falls unconscious.

  


When he looks up to their guests for assistance he sees that they’re all stuck outside of the spell barrier with no way in. His mother and Granger are both firing spell after spell at it, each rebounding off of the magical barrier. Weasley and Potter’s other friends have all conjured their Patronuses. None were able to pass through the magic surrounding them. Harry is motionless and silent, unconscious on the ground. Without Harry he’d unable to complete the final spell of their ceremony that would end the magical barrier surrounding them. He shakes Harry’s shoulder with little success, unable to wake him. A knot of tension and worry coils in Draco’s stomach. Harry is out cold and doesn’t appear like he will come to anytime soon.

  


Another pillar dripping with a floral arrangement flies at him. Draco ducks, barely avoiding the same fate as Harry. The pillar slams painfully into his wand arm, making him cry out. He is sure he feels something fracture as pain radiates up and down his arm in electrifying shocks.

  


Draco realises with a sickening feeling in his gut that it will be up to him to get them out of this situation. Harry can’t save him this time.

  


His hands shake as he takes in the ruined wedding decorations. The flowers are crushed beneath toppled pillars. The Dementors are drawing closer and closer to them, making Draco’s heartbeat pound in his chest. He hugs his arms tightly around himself, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arm. The chill in the air intensifies. His thoughts scatter everywhere at once as he looks around, frantic for answers. He knows he needs to calm down — that was the first thing Harry had always taught him when teaching Draco defense spells. Draco thinks of Harry’s voice in his head, desperate for the soothing tones that always calm him. He takes a shaking breath. It will be fine, he assures himself half-heartedly. They’ve been exchanging life debts in spades since they’d been together. Draco ignores the hateful voice in his head that reminds him that he’s never been able to manage the Patronus Charm, not once.

  


The Dementors are gathering overhead now, swirling into a coiling mass of monsters. He already feels the icy cold seeping deep into his bones, making him shiver and shake in his light formal robes. His arm aches; throbbing in pain from the place he’d fractured it. What little confidence he has gathered in himself already feels like it’s draining from him, along with the happy feeling that the day had carried with it thus far. All Draco feels like doing is giving up, curling up beside Harry and letting his wretched life come to an end. At least he would be given the chance to be by Harry’s side in his final moments.

  


Then he pictures Harry’s smiling face, fleetingly, before that memory is sucked away as well. It’s enough to make Draco curl his hands into fists determinedly and grit his teeth. _No_ , he won’t just give up. He can’t let Dementors take his Harry away from him.

  


A glance down at Harry confirms that he is still unconscious, his face scrunched into the ghost of an unhappy, pained frown. Draco wonders if he is experiencing the horrible memory of his mother’s last moments. He still vividly remembers Harry explaining why he’d always been so affected by the monsters. Harry’s faint expression clears as his skin pales, looking sickly. Draco’s heart thuds in his chest, worrying that Harry is already slipping away from him. A strangled sound catches in Draco’s throat. The thought of life without Harry is unbearable and sends a fissure of pain through Draco’s entire body.

  


Draco takes another shaking breath and raises his wand arm with determination, gripping tightly at his wand. He grimaces and shoves aside the pain in his arm, compartmentalizing it to be analyzed later. He closes his eyes and calls up a memory from the previous night, of the excited whispers he and Harry had exchanged in bed talking about their big plans for life. It had felt like they’d had the whole entire world ahead of them. He let the excitement and contentment wash over him before taking another breath.

  


“ _Expecto Patronum_!” Draco casts clearly.

  


White wisps of magic flicker for a moment from his wand, and then snuff out. He casts again, and again. Nothing happens. He can already feel the memory slipping away, being ripped from him by the Dementors overhead. Draco chokes back an anguished sob of despair. He’d never been able to do this properly, no matter how many times Harry had tried to help him learn it. He wasn’t going to be able to save the man he loved.

  


The Dementors are closing in on them now, their gnarled and bony hands reaching down towards Harry and Draco. He can smell their acrid breath as they swoop closer.

  


The worst parts of his life are being drawn to the front of his mind. He’s four and his Crup has died. He’s seven and he’s fallen off of his toy broom, scraping his knee on a jagged stone. He’s eleven and Harry is refusing to be his friend. He’s twelve and his father is punishing and berating him for coming second to Granger in grades. He’s fifteen and Cedric Diggory has died, and then his father is locked away in Azkaban. He’s sixteen and is burdened with an impossible task, forced to live through the horrors of war. There’s death, torture, despair, and depression flashing through his mind.

  


“No!” Draco lets out a strangled cry as the Dementors reach out and grab at Harry’s robes. Harry, normally so alive and full of fire, looks like a limp puppet in their clutches. Draco lets out another anguished sob as he watches two of the Dementors opening their gnarled, decaying mouths to begin to feed on Harry’s happiness until all that would be left in him is his soul. And then they will take that, too.

  


His wand arm shakes as he raises it again, the pain of his fracture already a distant memory in that moment. The sight of Harry at the non-existent mercy of the Dementors overcomes him.

  


*******

“Potter, this is pointless,” Draco grumbles, rolling up his sleeves and tossing aside his wand to slump down into a chair. “And stop treating me like your little groupies from fifth-year.”  


“Draco, this is really advanced defense magic. You’re doing great,” Harry replies. He comes over and runs his hand through Draco’s hair in a gesture that speaks of familiarity. “The Patronus Charm is different for everyone, what works for others might not be the same thing that works for you.”

  


“If you can teach a group of hormonal teenagers — while you were a teenager yourself, no less — then why are you having so much difficulty teaching it to me when we’re grown men?” Draco huffs frustratedly, turning away from Harry.

  


“You’re not relaxing enough. You need to let go, especially of all of the things you keep bottled up in your head about the war,” Harry explains again gently. Draco has heard it from him over and over at that point. He rolls his eyes and glares at the wall.

  


“I am relaxing. This is stupid,” he grumbles. Harry comes around behind him. He begins to massage Draco’s shoulders. Slowly his tension melts away into a groan of pleasure. “Well, that’s certainly more relaxing.”

  


“Mm, I’ll bet,” Harry says in amusement. His fingers knead into Draco’s shoulders. “Maybe what you need is another happy memory about relaxing to help you along.”

  


“Oh?” Draco asks airily. Harry’s fingers slide down and begin to undo the buttons of his shirt, exposing more and more skin. Draco tilts his head back and Harry’s lips meet his in a heated kiss. Draco tugs at Harry until he is kneeling between Draco’s legs, his palms sliding up Draco’s inner thighs. Draco smirks down at him as Harry flicks open Draco’s flies. “Do your worst, Potter.”

  


“I intend to,” he replies cheekily before taking Draco’s cock into the satin heat of his mouth. Draco lets his head fall back against the chair as a pleased sigh escaped him.

  


*******

He gasps for breath as he continues to shout. He is narrating his happy memories aloud, trying to do anything to reach Harry in his unconscious state.  


“Don’t you fucking dare, I forbid you from leaving me, Potter,” he grounds out fiercely. In between his rants he waves his wand frantically, feeling the bones in his arm cracking more — a spidery fracture is working its way through his forearm. The pain is so sharp that it almost feels numb. Still, he pushes it aside and continues to alternate between yelling their happy memories and trying to conjure a Patronus. “It’s our wedding day, Harry, _please_! I’m afraid, and I need you! _Expecto Patronum_! _Expecto Patronum_!”

  


_Why is this happening?_ His thoughts are running wildly through his head. He wonders where the Dementors have even come from — surely they hadn’t summoned them on their own by messing up their incantation?

  


His breath comes in panting sobs, his lungs are burning, and his throat feels like it was scratched raw by sharp claws from shouting himself hoarse. He watches helplessly as two Dementors become four, and then five, and then eight — all surrounding Harry and feeding on his happiness.

  


“Fuck! _Expecto Patronum_!” He cries out again, wildly waving his wand in a poor imitation of the movements Harry had taught him, tried to teach him.

  


Draco switches to shooting off defensive spells in the hopes that he can blast the Dementors away from Harry’s prone form, a lifeless ragdoll in their clutches. He swipes his arms angrily at them, hoping to be able to grip their ratty robes and physically pull them from Harry. It only causes pain in Draco’s arm, the Dementors throwing him off easily.

  


The bone-chilling cold is making Draco’s whole body shake violently; he cradles his wand arm against his chest, hoping to prevent any further damage to it. No matter what memory he shouts or calls up, no matter how much warmth it briefly fills him with, nothing is working to conjure anything that would defeat this many Dementors.

  


*******

Harry is sprawling in the nude at his side, his head pillowed on Draco’s bare leg. They had devoured each other in front of the fire on the antique rug. His fingers idly trail up and down Draco’s side.  


“The memory you use has to be happy,” he murmurs, finally breaking their peaceful silence. Draco glances down at him with a small frown; he’s been enjoying their afterglow. “But not just a happy one, it has to be the _right_ happy one.”

  


“How am I to know which one is the right one?” Draco asks.

  


“The first few times I did it, I used the first memory I had of flying — the way the air felt on my face, the rush…” Harry trails off and presses a kiss to Draco’s thigh. “But it only worked for a little while, then I had to use a different one.”

  


“So even if I manage to find the right one, it might not always work?” Draco clarifies. Harry nods against his leg. Draco narrows his eyes at Harry in calculating curiosity. “Do you still use the same memory now as you did during the war?”

  


Harry shakes his head silently. His eyes glint in the firelight, pinning Draco in place with an open look that makes his heart jump up into his throat.

  


“Now my memory is you,” Harry says quietly. Draco’s heart seizes up in his chest.

  


*******

It had to have been their incantation — they must have somehow mispronounced it. He knew he should have spent more time making sure Harry had the incantation down to his satisfaction. Harry had assured him that Granger had drilled it into him. Draco had picked it up easily enough, after years of Latin lessons, but Harry had trouble with the minute flow of the phrasing when they were learning it for the ceremony. There hadn’t been anything in the text about this dire consequence of verbally tripping over the ancient phrases. If he wasn’t so focused on saving Harry he might spare a frustrated thought to kill him instead for possibly botching the pronunciations. But that thought pains him, burning his heart like a flame in betrayal until it feels shriveled in his chest cavity. He doesn’t really believe this is Harry’s fault. He groans, cradling his arm as more Dementors circle around the edges of their magical cage. The smell of decay is heavy in the air around them. Instead of completing their wedding ceremony they’d managed to cock it up and summoned monsters that would be their downfall.  


Draco looks over through squinting eyes to see their loved ones panicking outside the circle. He feels so tired and he is in so much pain, both emotional and physical. Depressing thoughts are circling in his head, seeping through his hope like decaying disease.

  


“I tried, Harry,” he whispers brokenly. He curls up beside Harry, clutches his arm around Harry’s waist — he crushes a Dementor’s bony wrist in his hand and somehow finds the strength inside to rip it away from where it grips Harry’s robes. Draco buries his face in Harry’s cold neck and lets go of the sobs he’s been holding back. His tears are streaming down his face, and they feel like they’ve crystallized, frozen on his cheeks.

  


Nothing he’s tried has worked. In a last ditch, feeble attempt, he wracks his brain again for another memory, even just to have something other than the present horror to soothe him as they die together.

  


*******

Harry is standing behind Draco, murmuring in his ear and telling Draco all about their most romantic moments together as they’d fallen in love. Draco’s breath catches in his throat. He still hasn’t managed to find the right memory, despite how many times they’ve practised.  


But then, on his next try, he thought of Harry’s hands stroking his waist, of his voice curling around his ear as his lips brushed against the shell. He lets the memory fill him up and when he casts the spell he manages to conjure a silvery cloud for the first time.

  


He’s so relieved and happy about finally making progress. He couldn’t hold it for very long, but he’s finally done it. He’s never been able to conjure a corporeal Patronus, but he is inexplicably proud that he can manage a misty, silvery-blue cloud of protective magic.

  


*******

He grunts as he raises his arm to try again. Each time he feels himself give in he pictures Harry pushing him on. In his mind, Harry doesn’t want him to give up. _You can do this Draco, you have this in you_ , the Harry in his mind says gently. Draco can picture his encouraging smile so clearly and vividly.  


He chokes on his own saliva as he forces words out of his raw throat. “ _Expecto PATRONUM_!”

  


Draco’s wand arm is aching from waving it so wildly in his attempts to save Harry and himself. He’s surely broken the bone fully by now. He wonders distantly why the others can’t help them; they still haven’t managed to break the rune circle. It won’t break until their ceremony is complete.

  


He’s so desperate and emotional. He’s struggling against the Dementors. They’ve grabbed onto his robes, now. Draco is panicking over the fact that this was meant to be their wedding day, and yet here they are, both dying at the hands of Dementors. It’s no use. Harry had tried to teach him, so many times, and Draco has never had it in him. A part of him had already accepted it, long ago, to mean that his soul was tainted, unfit to have something so good be created with his magic. Draco knows now, finally, no matter how hard he tries he’s not going to be able to conjure a Patronus. He’s going to give up this time and he won’t try again. He will just lay his head back down and try to enjoy his last moments of life with the man he loves.

  


With a shuddering, wheezing breath Draco recalls the short life he’s had with Harry as he curls up again by his side. New tears fall over the already-frozen tracks on his face, burning his skin sharply. He remembers the ridiculous, charming way Harry flirted with him while they worked together. He’d blown Harry off at first, thinking that he’d been joking. He remembers their first kiss, everything it shouldn’t have been — it had been desperate, almost painful, as their teeth had clacked together. He remembers when Harry asked him to move in, their first Christmas, and when Harry asked Draco to marry him. His heart clenches in his chest, threatening to implode.

  


Draco fiercely grasps the memories, feeling the last of his happiness draining out of him. He watches Harry’s soul being sucked from his body at last by the three Dementors left floating over him. A hollow chasm fills Draco’s chest at the loss, made more intense by the bond they have started. He knows instantly that he’ll never know happiness again.

  


“Harry,” he chokes hoarsely. His despair tastes like ash in his mouth.

  


The Dementors continue to swoop by, and Draco can only spare a moment to be grateful that the monsters are as trapped as they are inside the unity circle. Their friends and family are safe on the outside, desperately trying to break the circle. Each time a Dementor passes by Draco can feel any joy he’d ever felt being ripped from his body. It feels like razor needles are scraping along his skin to wrench every drop of contentment from him.

  


“I love you,” he whispers on a broken sob into Harry’s neck.

  


Draco pictures the life he and Harry planned together. Images flash through his mind as he lay panting on the ground, frozen tear tracks staining his cheeks until his skin is cracking and bleeding. Draco closes his eyes and lets his life flash before his eyes, thinking at least they’ll die together. His hand finds Harry’s limp one and he holds it, whimpering at how cold Harry feels. He’s flying with Harry as they chase after a golden snitch on their brooms, laughing together. The wind is whipping Harry’s wild hair all around, Draco imagines it’s gotten longer, and it’s that distraction that finally allows him to seize victory over Harry. Then they’re staring each other down as they each try to get the other to try a new food. Harry’s face is priceless when he tastes the chocolate covered scorpions. He moans in delight when Harry forces him to try a spicy curry dish. They travel the world. They paint their new house together. Harry starts a paint fight that gets them both all dirty, ending with finger painting their nude bodies, and then a warm shower together where washing each other turns into moans as their bodies slide together, rocking towards their releases as their fingers plunge into each other.

  


Draco squeezes his eyes tighter, trying to hold on to what his life is supposed to be like after today. He ignores the pain of his happiness seeping out of him, focusing on Harry’s face in his mind. He pictures the birth of their children, and sitting in the room with their surrogate. They haven’t talked much about it, but he knows they both want children. Draco feels his throat closing up as he pictures the look Harry would give their perfect child, and the look he’d then give Draco. And then, _there_ … Draco’s heart swells with love and happiness that moment will bring. It consumes him, burns in his blood. He holds onto the feeling and takes a shaking breath.

  


The Dementors can sense it; they’re converging on him now. He’s become a fattened calf for them to feast on. Draco raises his wand and bellows out one last time, “ _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!”

  


Time seems to stand still for a long moment. He’s done it; he can sense that he’s somehow finally succeeded. His head feels light, like he’s floating. There’s a rush of sounds happening around him, and an unholy screech. Harry is suddenly gasping and panting for breath beside him.

  


Just as he catches a glimpse of the wisps of his first real corporeal Patronus he blacks out.

  


*******

Draco comes to with a start; his hand automatically goes for his wand to save Harry from the Dementors. He feels disoriented as snippets of memory return to him. Harry’s tired and worried face is the first thing he sees hovering over him. His forehead has a swollen lump on it from where the pillar had bowled him over. Draco gives a strangled cry, surging up to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck. He doesn’t understand how Harry is okay, the last he had seen Harry was out cold with his soul sucked halfway from his body towards a feasting Dementor. His hysteria is bubbling up inside him. He vaguely recalls Harry gasping before he blacked out. Draco almost lost him, and that insidious thought makes his gut twist unpleasantly. Harry’s murmuring continuously in his ear, not even grimacing when Draco grips at him too tightly, his hands forming claws. He ignores the sharp ache in his arm, like a hot needle stabbing into his nerves. His fingers hurt from how tightly his hands are twisted in Harry’s robes, and at some point he realises that he’s started sobbing again, his whole body wracking with the force of them. He sucks in deep breaths, his lungs and throat burning.  


“You were gone,” Draco chokes out brokenly. His hands continue to desperately touch Harry everywhere he can reach. “I saw it, you were getting the Kiss — you were gone!”

  


“Shhh, it’s okay now,” Harry promises with fluttery presses of his lips to Draco’s temple. His thumb gently wipes away Draco’s tears. “I woke up after your Patronus attacked the Dementors that were on me. Felt like a live wire had gone through me.”

  


“But — the Kiss, I was watching them take your soul,” Draco insists hoarsely. Harry caresses Draco’s cheek soothingly.

  


“Your Patronus got them before they could finish it. You saved my life, Draco,” Harry answers, his eyes flicking over Draco’s face. He’s looking at Draco reverently.

  


Then there are other people crowding around him, hugging him. He notices belatedly that his mother is clutching at him on his other side. Molly’s holding his hand — even Weasley and Granger are standing over Harry’s shoulder looking relieved.

  


“How…the barrier, we didn’t — ”

  


“After you cast your Patronus, and I came to, I finished off the rest of the other Dementors that lingered,” Harry explains. His hands haven’t stopped touching Draco, as if he wants to be certain that he’s all right. He pauses, smiling at Draco. “I’m so proud of you for casting a Patronus, Draco. It was beautiful.”

  


“I managed a full one?” Draco asks. Harry nods, hugging Draco tightly. Draco feels warmth spread through him at the confirmation that he managed to finally get the Patronus Charm right. He wishes it would have stuck around longer, but he supposes he has the right thought now to conjure it again. He was suddenly eager to get Harry alone to show him he could cast it, just to see Harry’s proud smile light up his face again.

  


“I completed the binding incantation,” Harry adds in an odd tone, pulling away from the hug. “That’s why the barrier is gone.”

  


For a moment Draco is stunned into silence. That was it, then, they were married. He hadn’t even been awake for it. He frowns and waves off his family, sitting up. His eyes narrow as his silvery eyes shoot back to Harry.

  


“So I was blacked out while you finished our unity ceremony?” Draco clarifies, not really needing the answer. Harry nods, giving him a sheepish smile. It’s the same smile that he uses when he knows he’s in trouble. “I’m not some sleeping beauty you can kiss while I’m unconscious, Potter,” he mutters mutinously. He wants to linger on his annoyance that Harry finished their bond without him, but his relief that Harry is okay is warring with his other emotions, and winning.

  


Harry’s smile turns into a wide grin. He pulls Draco to him, kissing him deeply. It’s an intense kiss that Draco pours all of his feelings into at the mere thought of losing each other. Harry makes a sound at the back of his throat, squeezing Draco tighter.

  


“Don’t think that because you’re my husband now I won’t be angry at you for that,” Draco says with narrowed eyes as they pull apart. “We’ll be reenacting the completion of the ceremony again, with me being _conscious_ this time,” he declares haughtily. Harry laughs, kissing him passionately again.

  


*******

Much later, when they lay in bed, naked and sated after an emotional and intense consummation of their vows, Harry shifts in his arms.  


“I meant to ask earlier, but I got caught up in everything. What was the memory that finally worked for you?” Harry asks. He waits patiently, pressing kisses to any inch of skin he can reach. Draco stares up into the darkness surrounding them. He’s still trying to come back to himself after his intense release. Draco’s instinct is to shy away from answering.

  


“It’s private,” he insists. Harry looks at him sadly, and then Draco realises that it really isn’t — because it’s _Harry_. He’s promised his life to this man, now his husband. They were meant to share these things with each other. He _wanted_ to share it with Harry. “It wasn’t a memory,” he whispers.

  


“I don’t understand,” Harry answers, his fingers stroking Draco’s cheek lightly. Draco wants to kiss away the confusion. He never wants to stop kissing him, doesn’t want to be parted from him ever again.

  


“It wasn’t a memory,” he repeats. “It’s what the future might hold for us.”

  


Draco’s heart fills with love and warmth again at the image in his head — Harry’s smiling lovingly at their child, with tears in his eyes, overwhelmed by becoming a father. Their family will grow.

  


“What, like a vision? Are there Seers in your family?” Harry asks, still confused. Draco supposes he has a right to be, he’s been teaching others how to conjure their Patronus since he was fifteen, after all. He’d spouted on endlessly that to conjure one it had to be a good _memory_.

  


Draco shakes his head, tilting it. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It didn’t feel like what I imagine a vision feels like, but…”

  


Harry was kissing his neck, distracting Draco. He turned his head, pressing their lips together. When they pull apart Draco pins Harry with a look. “I want it to be real.”

  


And it would be, Draco could feel it in his bones with certainty that what he’d imagined as his life flashed before his eyes that it would all come true.


End file.
